


In Valley Stream

by malevolosidade



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolosidade/pseuds/malevolosidade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the end, the only thing left to do is to keep surviving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Valley Stream

**Author's Note:**

> I... have no idea where this came from, actually. The title and part of the inspiration comes from the Joy Zipper song _Valley Stream_ , though. Not really a lot more to add, other that this is an AU, an angsty AU at that, and that I hope you enjoy it! :)

It’s a scorching day in September when the stranger arrives.  
  
First, there is the rumble, echoing through the vast expanse from a distance; a short one, which he believes to be a hallucination, and then a second one, drawn out, just long enough to make him realize the heat is not making him imagine things. Sharp against dead silence, loud like thunder; maybe it would have been better if it was actual thunder, because it would mean the drought would come to an end, and he would not feel such a wild stirring uncoiling from the pit of his stomach all the way up to his spine and across his chest. Sure, carriers come along once a week to bring provisions, but this is nothing like the ancient pick-up trucks they drive; he can barely remember the last time he has heard such a sound.  _Weeks? Months?_  He scoffs at his own attempt to pretend time has not passed so swiftly;  _More likely about a year_ , and he hangs his head for a second. It is unmistakable, though, and impossible to ignore: the roaring growl of a car engine.  
  
He hides by the corner between a wall and one of the front windows, waiting, watching; the shotgun is at arm’s reach, just in case. So few of them remained after what had happened; he heard numbers ranging from a million to five million, scattered all over the world. Some chose to roam; some chose to protect; some chose to remain; some chose to defer to bedlam. One never knew for sure the true intent of an unknown person, these days; he’d seen things he’d prefer to forget or to bury deep into a far away corner of his mind never to be seen again.  
  
He waits, and he watches.  
  
Up the steep path it comes, clattering and booming as it approaches; with a final push, it comes into full view at last: its hardtop battered by use, its bodywork covered in dirt and dust. After the noise, the deafening, beautiful noise, silence descends down again, just after the brisk sound of brakes slamming on. The car halts to a stop by the front porch. It doesn’t last for too long; a few seconds later, a door slams shut. Faint sounds of footsteps graze on stone and fading grass, and he realizes that for now, silence is gone; only time would tell if for good or bad.  
  
That’s not all that there is to the image that’s been put to sound: dark, unkempt curls and wide shoulders hidden beneath a jacket that’s seen better days, a shadow of a beard clinging to his face and tanned hands making quick work of rummaging around the unseen contents of the trunk before finding a water bottle that gets drunk down in a flash. How long had it been since someone was seen traveling alone? Even if he was a roamer, which seemed the case, few people dared to go around unaccompanied anymore, even at broad daylight.  
  
Suddenly, the man turns and stares at the cabin; in a way, he feels as if he’s being directly stared at too, even if he’s invisible for now, shrouded in comfortable shadows. He shudders; definitely a roamer. Did he intend to break in? Could he see where he was? He did not seem confused, nor particularly lost; he simply stood there, studying the front porch, seeming to draw as many conclusions as he himself was drawing of him. As someone who stayed behind, the cabin and its surroundings were meant to look abandoned, as to raise no suspicion of a possible dweller. Overgrown weeds, peeling paint, creaking wood; inside, though, he made sure everything worked the best it could. A decrepit view outside, a blooming home inside: almost like another reality, almost like a shred of normalcy among the chaos.  
  
He finds himself in a game of mirrors: watching the other as the other watches him, both disarmed, both afflicted, both rustled. What few possessions that still remain surround them, and yet none seem to have anyone else to share them with. From a game of mirrors, it becomes a game of chess: they have never seen each other, and yet each wait for the first move. They have never even met, and yet they survived thus far by hook or by crook, by some combination of skill and determination and perhaps even luck. They have never been close to each other, and yet here they are.  
  
The other man is up to the challenge, and takes up to making the first move.  
  
They do not realize, but their movements are almost in conjunction. One moves from the inside, hands firmly on the shotgun, silently moving towards the door; the other comes from outside, a sleek stride across the narrow three-step ladder to the porch. Both move to a converging point; both move to get there first. The other man has a slight edge; he stops directly in front of the door and waits. He raises an eyebrow when the door is finally flung open and he finds himself staring at double barrels. Perhaps his assessment was not as thorough as it should have been, or perhaps he misjudged the situation; he would find out fast enough, it would seem.   
  
“Put that down. I’m not the enemy.”  
  
It comes off fearlessly, and there was no other way it could have been.  
  
“Get in.”  
  
It comes off forcefully, and there was no other way it could have been.  
  


***

  
“Are you keeping me a prisoner?”  
  
“I might be. I don’t know anything about you, I don’t know where you’re coming from, I don’t know where you’re going. You simply showed up here, right out of the blue. How do I know you can be trusted?”  
  
“I know, I’m a roamer. Roamers aren’t to be trusted.”  
  
Jean-Éric acquiesces, quietly. The shotgun remains drawn, just in case.  
  
“I’m not that kind of roamer, believe me. I don’t even have a gun on me right now.”  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
“I’m Daniel. Who are  _you_?”   
  
He is caught off guard by the simple answer and the quick rebuttal.  
  
“Jean-Éric.”  
  
He is speaking, but his voice sounds strange, even to himself; as of late he barely speaks, whether aloud to anyone else or to himself. It feels thick, coarse, scraping against his throat, each word coming from a tremendous amount of effort. He swallows, attempting to ease his speech, but it does not seem to work. When he was a child, he wondered if someone could become mute if he or she didn’t speak for prolonged periods of time; now he feels as if he is losing much more than the ability of speech. Is everything so hopeless now it doesn’t matter anymore who he is? Has his routine become so mechanical he is losing everything, every single thing that has meaning to him, down to who he really is?  
  
He frowns, and he wishes he hadn’t, because the roamer notices it.  
  
“You’re not quite alright, are you?”  
  
“I’m fine.” He tightens his grip on the shotgun, attempting to reassure himself, attempting to shake off that feeling of sudden despondence before the other man begins to think he was vulnerable, or even worse, that he was weak. “I’m meant to guard this area and the border, and this is what I’m doing. This is all I’m meant to do.”  
  
“You don’t need to worry. I’ve never been up here before, and I got lost, my bearings weren’t as accurate as I hoped they were. My  _beast_  needs some fixing. I got tools, I got provisions, I got everything else. Only thing missing is a place to bunk down.”  
          
Jean-Éric eases down.  
  
“How long do you need?”  
  
“Um, it’s pretty battered down.” He pauses, squinting, scratching his forehead. “I need to take a closer look so I can’t really tell right off the bat, but it might take a couple of days. It won’t be a horribly long time, though, I won’t be a hindrance.”  
  
Jean-Éric lowers the gun for the first time since he escorted the roamer in. They exchange a long look; they both know they are trying to read the most they can of each other just by studying whatever small nuances they can perceive at that moment, but Jean-Éric is also making up his mind on whether he should allow him to stay or not; he has risks to weigh, he has calculations to make, he has considerations to take into account. Daniel is not begging for anything; if anything, he can leave and find what he is looking for somewhere else. The settlement is a few miles ahead, but Jean-Éric knows for a fact nobody would be willing to take him in there, no matter how inoffensive he seemed or how not dangerous his reason to stay was. He was a stranger, ultimately. The least they would do there was to ignore him until he went away, into the unknown; the worst they could do was to end his journey right there, in a manner that was not pleasant to anyone involved, roamer or settler alike.  
  
“I’ve got a mattress you can use. Bring in whatever you need.” He pauses. “And no, you’re not a prisoner. That doesn’t mean I won’t be keeping an eye on you, however.”  
  
Daniel beams so widely Jean-Éric scowls a little.   
  
“Thanks, mate.”   
  
Daniel offers a handshake, because yes, he comes in peace; Jean-Éric takes it because yes, if he was meant to protect, he’d protect, and that means protecting  _anyone_.  
  


***

  
At first, they don’t really talk, unless necessary.  
  
It’s almost a tacit agreement: each have their own matters to attend to, during the day; each have their own worries and each have their own duties, and it’s no use spending useful daytime nattering about silly things. They don’t quite find the time to do so, either; Jean-Éric gets up for the morning scout and comes down the stairs dressed up and ready to go, just as the sun turns the sky from dark to light. He nudges a half-awake Daniel on the way to the kitchen, where he readies breakfast for the two of them. The first day, Daniel complains that he didn’t need to bother, that he could do it by himself and that they agreed he’d use his own supplies for feeding; Jean-Éric counters that it was easier that way, to cook everything at once, that he doesn’t mind at all and that they can mix their supplies so they get used equally; Daniel seems satisfied with that, and agrees, adding that he could leave the dishes and crockery for him to wash afterwards. That decided, Jean-Éric leaves a bowl and a tall glass of juice on the counter; he used to eat in silence, but now he listens to the other man arranging the covers on the makeshift bed in the living room, selecting clean clothes, moving upstairs to use the bathroom, all those small sounds and signs there is someone else under his roof, and he doesn’t seem to find it that bad a thing.  
  
It’s not a bad thing  _at all_ , he thinks.  
  
By the time Daniel comes back down, fresh faced, Jean-Éric is done with breakfast, filling bottles of water, lacing up his battered knee-high boots or checking if all the contents of his fading olive green backpack are in order for the day. He hums a good morning and sits down to eat; Jean-Éric nods in agreement, adds a bemused  _bonjour_ that makes Daniel roll his eyes and begins to explain once again how the one-way lock on the door works: once he’s outside, he can’t go back in until Jean-Éric returns in five hours, so he better not forget anything, and he better not try to steal anything, either, because he has everything properly accounted for. Daniel nods, absent-mindedly, and as he closes the door behind him with a hasty goodbye and a quick flick of the hand to put on a weathered brown hat, Jean-Éric learns to leave a bottle or two of water by the front door, just in case.  
  
When he returns, he usually finds Daniel underneath the old car, legs sticking out, or perched on the wooden railing of the front porch, guzzling down on water, his hands pitch black with grease. He gives a toothy grin and welcomes him back, asks how it went, and really, nothing ever really happens; Jean-Éric’s answers are never the most enthusiastic and he gets mercilessly mocked for that as he opens the door and Daniel filters in right after him.  
  
They have lunch; Daniel wanders back to the car and Jean-Éric stays in, checking if everything is in place and if nothing is missing, and surprisingly, everything is candid clean and in place. Not a bullet is missing, nor are stacks of food or trivial things like books or bathroom supplies; he checks it every single day, and every single day, his surprise only grows. Sometime later, he wanders outside, checks on Daniel, and wanders back in, to work out, read and get ready for the afternoon scout. It’s a shorter one: two hours later, as the sun is sinking down behind the valley, he heads back to the cabin; Daniel is now sitting on the steps of the porch, waiting for him.  
  
“You can sit on the bench, you know,” Jean-Éric says, while he unlocks the door. “You don’t really need to sit on the floor.”  
  
“Nah, it’s okay,” Daniel shrugs, and bites his lower lip as he turns around and gets a full view of his figure cut out in faded black against the pale light. “I don’t mind.”  
  
They then have dinner, talking briefly about their day; Daniel stays outside a bit longer after finishing the dishes and cleaning the table while Jean-Éric gets ready for bed. When he’s done, he comes back down, and Daniel is still there, night after night, watching the skies intently as if he wasn’t even there; as if his presence were something out of this world, Jean-Éric steals a glance of his profile dimly lit by moonlight before motioning his head to the right and mouthing a soft ‘come in’. He holds the door open, Daniel quietly breezes in and bids him good night; Jean-Éric wishes him the same and goes back upstairs, because his routine is and has always been a never-ending cycle, not entirely new but renewed somehow, and tomorrow it begins again, movement after movement, fitted piece after fitted piece.  
  
On the third day, just before he falls asleep, he thinks of Daniel, he thinks of his darkened outline and his pensive expression watching the starswept sky, he thinks of how he always finds a reason or a motive to be positive and how he always seems to extract something, abstract or not, from everything, he thinks of his harmless mockeries and his beaming smiles, and in his confused state of mind, he decides that even if he loves to analyse what lies above, deeply rooted in the nightfall and the dusk, they do not fit him at all; if anything, he should be like the sun, like the day, like light itself.  
  


***

  
“Don’t you ever grow weary, living out there, all on your own?”  
  
On the fourth day, just after lunch is had and while they are by the front porch taking a break, the agreement comes crashing down. Maybe it’s because by now they are more than used to sharing a space together, and feel more comfortable in each other’s presence; maybe it’s because they feel they are ready to actually listen more to what the other has to say, or maybe it’s because they have gotten tired of having long silences as common companionship when there’s actually someone just outside, or in the next room, or right across the table. To exchange words and sentences suddenly becomes something as essential as breathing or eating, and Jean-Éric takes it upon himself to begin.  
  
“I got used to it. I guess you have to, after a while. After you realize there isn’t really that much left, you have to find your ways to cope, to not let it take you down.” He pauses. “It’s the same with you, isn’t it? You feel weary too, don’t you?”  
  
Jean-Éric is observant enough to notice Daniel is pretending to be having trouble with his bottle closer so he doesn’t have to look directly at him when he replies. He only looks up when he’s finished and the question’s been turned right back at him, and even then a shade of grief still lingers on his eyes.  
  
“It’s not as lonely as it seems. People from the settlement come around, and sometimes, I’m the one who goes there. There are the roamers, too. Sometimes they pass by, and every once in a blue moon, they make a stop, but it’s not that often that they actually stay for a period of time longer than a few hours.” Daniel simpers at the mention, and he finds himself smiling in return. “It seems bad, but it could be worse.”   
  
“You could be dead.”  
          
“Or, if some reports making the rounds are any evidence, I could be somewhere even worse. And so could you, too.” Jean-Éric pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “Why did you become a roamer?”  
  
Daniel exhales heavily, furrowing his brow, squinting at the searing sun; it feels like the heat is coiling around his bare legs, and for an instant or two, it feels like his heart swells and he can’t breathe, for reasons that are not entirely restricted to the weather. “In the end, it was just me. I had nowhere to go, I had nowhere to stay. So I took up the road.”  
  
“You were able to do what I never could.”  
  
“To let go of everything?”  
  
Jean-Éric nods, and it’s his turn to feel something constrict inside himself.  
  
“I didn’t have much of a choice.”  
  
“You were courageous.”  
  
“It takes courage to stay, too.”   
  
Jean-Éric doesn’t seem to think so, and quiets down to the point of stillness. He stares ahead, at the car, its hood open wide and the tools strewn about the frayed lawn, at the nothingness stretching as far as the eye can see, and even beyond, at the sickeningly blueness of the sky, at the succession of increasingly drier and dustier days the drought is going to bring upon them, at how everything feels so overwhelmingly  _infinite_ , at the sudden disposition the conversation turned to, to all he wished he had forgotten already, and sighs.  
  
“I’m going inside. You should get back to your car.”  
  
It’s abrupt, perhaps too discourteous, as he was the one who had started the conversation in the first place, but it’s already been said, and he’s getting up and drawing the key from the chain around his neck and unlocking the door in an attempt to vanish into the cabin before Daniel can say anything, but the other man’s fast, he’s always faster.  
  
“The car can wait,” Daniel speaks up, unfazed. “If you’re going to do the dishes, leave them for me. You could go hang the clothes and covers up instead. With the sun as seething as it is today, by sunset they’ll be more than dry.”  
  
Jean-Éric nods, embarrassed, his face burning, and in he comes, straight through the cabin to the back, only stopping to get the two baskets before leaving through the door in the back, not looking up a single time. He settles them by his side and furrows his brow.  
  
He lied.   
  
He is far more often by his own than not.   
  
It should cause anyone to grow weary, it should tear anyone apart, and it does.  
  
Daniel watches him through the kitchen window for a moment or two before getting started. His attention is not fully there, though; his mind keeps turning back to the man outside. He thinks of Jean-Éric, he thinks of his fraught figure and the vote of confidence he was given when he was allowed to stay, he thinks of the subtle way he carries on and the elusive past he seems so burdened by, and decides that he might live for the sun and the day, but they do not match him at all; he would be better matched to the moon, to the night, to the darkness itself.

  
***

  
“What happened to your family?”  
  
When the night falls, there isn’t really any need to mask their actual emotions. Side by side, on the bench under the porch, Daniel watches as Jean-Éric recoils from the question, both mentally and physically; first, he stares ahead, lips pursed, and then he lifts his legs onto the seat, sinks his chin on his knees and lets out a low, tired whimper.  
  
“It doesn’t really matter now. They’re all gone.”  
          
Daniel scowls at his own foolishness, at having jumped into conclusions so much faster than he should have, at believing he still was lucky enough to have a family, at having spoken too soon, at Jean-Éric’s visible discomfort and the fact that he was the one that brought it upon him; from the way they are sitting next to each other, he could easily drape a comforting arm across his shoulders, and he almost does that, he  _wants_  to do that, and he is going to do that, but he decides in the spur of the moment that  _no, this is not the right time_ , and pulls away.  
  
“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” He whispers, deciding words are the best way out of this confusion, even if they were the ones that put him there in the first place. “The settlement you mentioned before, I- I thought you had  _someone_  there. Anyone. God, I’m really sorry.”  
          
Jean-Éric shrugs, sniffs, smiles uneasily, because no matter how long it has been, it still feels like it happened yesterday, and, intimately hopes Daniel cannot see the teary glimmer forming in his eyes.  
  
“No, I was the only one left.” He shuts his eyes. When he opens them again and turns to face Daniel, his voice is as soft as the sky above.  “What about yours?”  
          
“It was always just me.”  
          
“Always?”  
  
It’s a stupid question, Jean-Éric knows, but Daniel sounds so intent he must ask.  
  
Daniel shoots him a simmering look, so sharp it’d be enough to shut him up, but chooses to give him an answer regardless.  
  
“Yes.  _Always_.”  
  
Sometimes, it feels like every topic is a sensitive one.  
  


***

 

“I was wondering if there’s anything I could help you with.”  
  
Well into the fifth day, Daniel pokes his head out from underneath the car, confused. Jean-Éric stands by the side, a slight smile to his face, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s looking up at him in such an odd, awry way, but for an instant he thinks he’s seeing  _something else_  there, something he cannot quite place, something he isn’t quite sure if it’s there at all, something he thinks might actually be a reflection of what he himself is feeling, and  _it- it can’t be, seriously_ ; he decides it’s the sun playing tricks on him again and it’s better to speak up than to stand there both grasping at straws and gaping at Jean-Éric.  
  
“I don’t think there’s enough room for both of us down here, mate.”  
  
“Maybe there’s something I can help you with, in some other way that doesn’t involve getting stuck under the car with you?” He kneels by Daniel’s side and smiles. “And I’m not even saying that just to get rid of you, either.”  
  
“Yeah, right.” Daniel scoffs, even if he knows Jean-Éric means well.  
  
“Come on, I’m serious.”  
  
“Serious about getting rid of me or serious about helping?”  
  
“Now you’re just being facetious, aren’t you.”  
  
“I am, yeah, very attentive of you to say that.” He smiles wryly and pushes himself back underneath the car. “I’m grateful for your help, but it’s okay, I can manage. Not too long until it’s all finished, I guess. It did give me...” He pauses to grab a pair of pliers laying at arm’s reach, “...some trouble, though. It’s not gonna break down any time soon, which is good. No more getting stuck in places with bizarre,  _unrealistic_  names.”  
  
Jean-Éric rolls his eyes.  
  
“I still don’t get what’s so bizarre or unrealistic about Valley Stream, seriously.”  
  
Daniel slides back out.  
  
“Fine, we’re in a valley. But I refuse to believe there’s a stream until I actually see it.”  
  
“Just because you haven’t seen it, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Where do you think we get water from? It’s not magically materializing in our reservoirs, you know.” By now Jean-Éric’s more amused than anything else. “It’s a long way down, but it’s not that difficult to get there, from where we are. It’s not as full as it should be, with this drought we’re having, but if you want to, I- I could take you there when you’re finished.”   
  
And, just like that, all of a sudden, right at the stutter, he feels his cheeks flush.  
  
“If it’s not too bothersome to you, yeah, I wouldn’t mind seeing it.” Another broad, irreproachable, grateful smile, and Daniel is back beneath the car. It doesn’t take too long until he groans and sticks an arm out. “Get me a combination wrench?”  
  
Jean-Éric peers into the tool kit. “Which one?”  
  
“Seven-sixteen. It’s etched on the side.”  
  
Jean-Éric places it into his open hand but doesn’t immediately let go of it.   
  
“Didn’t I tell you there  _was_  something I could help you with?”  
  
When he releases it, he hears Daniel’s muffled laughter as the arm vanishes again, and he himself can’t avoid cracking a smile as he settles on the dirty ground by the toolbox.  
  
Sometimes, they realize it doesn’t have to be so difficult, and words flow out at ease.

  
***

  
On the sixth day, someone comes around.  
  
“Why, Jean-Éric, didn’t know you already had a visitor!” Mr. Anderson climbs out of the pick-up truck to greet one effusively and take the time to size the other up; inside the cab, two pairs of young eyes peer out curiously at the surroundings, tiny hands grasping at the edges of the open window. “Where are you hailing from, kid?”  
  
“All the way from the west, sir,” Daniel replies, cheerfully.  
  
“He’s arrived a couple of hours ago, his car needs repairing.” Jean-Éric joins in, as he helps Mr. Anderson with the tailgate; with his back turned, the older man doesn’t see the knowing glance he shoots Daniel. Daniel complies, deciding to ask later what that meant; for the time being, it is better to follow the instruction of someone far more used to that than he is.  
  
“And where you’re headed to?” He winces; not even the shadow of his wide brimmed hat is doing much in keeping himself shielded from heat and light.  
  
“No set place, really. As long as I can keep going, I’ll keep going.”  
  
“A roamer,” Mr. Anderson muses, so inaudible it’s almost to himself, then turns to Jean-Éric as they begin to collect his allotted share of provisions for the week: parcels, tin cans, small containers, bottles, gallons. “I trust you are keeping an eye on him while he is around.”  
  
“A close eye, Mr. Anderson,” Jean-Éric reassures.  
  
“Do you need any help bringing it all in?” Daniel asks, wiping a dirty hand on a piece of ragged cloth he has by his toolbox; it took him a moment or two of hesitation, wondering whether he should intervene and give them a hand or not. It would be unkind of him not to offer any help in the task, he thought, not after everything he has been given in the last few days; it would not be a hassle whatsoever, and they were only lining the goods up by the bench on the front porch, after all.  
  
“No need for that, young man.” Mr. Anderson turns him down, just like that, but he smiles nonetheless. “Jean-Éric and I can handle it, it’s not too much.”  
  
“Thanks, though,” Jean-Éric completes, piling three cans on each hand and casting him another knowing look. “We shouldn’t disrupt your own task, either.”  
  
Daniel catches on, and nods quietly, heading back to the car. It’s only muffled sounds and strings of conversation that he can hear, down there; ultimately, what they converse about isn’t entirely of his concern and if it’s none of his concern, then he will stay out of the view and he will not be a nuisance. It’s all very simple; it’s all part of who he is.  
  
“Be careful of roamers, Jean-Éric,” Mr. Anderson says, as they get started on the heavier loads. “If one is around, there might be more lurking.”  
  
“He seems to be all alone, sir. We talked for a while earlier today, he said he has traveled by himself for some time now. He seems harmless.” Jean-Éric pauses, for a moment, setting another stack of bags on the wooden floor to cast a look towards the parked car. “And I have no reason to not believe in him.”  
  
“Be careful,” he insists, and it comes off equal parts friendly advice and uneasy threat. “That is something I am well aware you are, because since you’ve been positioned here, nothing bad ever came through. This is all I will tell you. Be watchful. They are a tricky sort. Get help from the other watchers if you need it.”  
  
“I am, sir. I am.”  
  
He casts a downcast look at the car, unsure if he should say anything else.  
  
“Now, Jean-Éric, what’s that long face?”  
  
“Nothing, sir, just this drought, this heat.” He cringes, both because it’s true and he feels he can barely  _be_  out here, in the dry, and because that was only a small part of what made him so suddenly crestfallen; the half-lie he was selling to Mr. Anderson had its weight as well, but he trusted his instincts and knew he could act upon anything if he had to, even if he was sure he would not need to. And then, besides the lie and the weather, there is something else as well, something he is not ready to admit to himself just yet.  
  
For the time being, he drops it.  
  
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Mr. Anderson smirks, setting down the last stack near the front door. “Last year, by now, the rains had already come. Word has reached us that it shouldn’t take too long, though. We can only hope that’s an accurate forecast. Crops won’t last for much longer, nor will our reservoirs if it doesn’t rain soon.”  
  
“I hope so. I’m not sure the situation can get any direr than it already is,” Jean-Éric says, grimly, and realizes his attempt to shake off his despondency were unsuccessful.  
  
“It will come, Jean-Éric. It has to,” Mr. Anderson states, matter-of-factly, as he firmly shuts the tailgate close. “I think that’s it for this week. I’d help you bring it all in, but me and the children, we still have a way to go before the sun sets. We’re going up, taking provisions to the other watchers.”  
  
“Don’t worry about that, sir, I can get it all in before leaving for the afternoon scout.”  
  
“I thought you were off day duties this week.”  
  
“Oh, no, today’s the last day. Samuel takes it up from tomorrow on.”  
  
“Good. I always thought you seemed better suited for the night scout, in any case.” He slams the pick-up truck’s driver door close; the two children huddle up by his side and smile feebly at Jean-Éric when he waves and ruffles their hair. “Remember, Jean-Éric. Watch out.”  
  
Jean-Éric can only nod once again and watch, profoundly sunk in an odd feeling of helplessness, as the pick-up truck roars to life and vanishes down the road, pulling away under the blazing sun. He is not even thinking about anything specific, anything particular, anything of note; he stands there, feeling the dust clinging to his boots, to his jeans and to his faded brown waistcoat, to his undershirt, to his hands and his nails and his face, and the sun is still up there, stinging, ferocious as if wishing to act upon an unspoken revenge against everyone who survived. He is frozen under the sun, impossibly frozen, impossibly angry at something, and the balance he had somehow found in bewilderment comes crumbling down upon hearing footsteps closing in on him.  
  
“Why did you tell him I arrived today?”  
  
“It was for the best.”  
  
“That’s not really an answer.”  
  
Only then Jean-Éric turns around to face Daniel.  
  
“I chose to tell Mr. Anderson that because it avoids unnecessary questioning. It avoids suspicion. I know you mean no harm, I’m  _sure_ you mean no harm, but he doesn’t know any of that. When he arrives back at the settlement, he will tell there is a roamer around, but also that I have an eye on him and because of that, nobody will be harmed. And when you leave, you’ll be safe. They won’t hunt you down, they won’t come after you.”  
          
“You... you didn't have to do that," Daniel murmurs, taken aback. When he speaks again, his voice is low, soft, bordering on muted perplexity. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
“Why am I doing what?”  
  
Daniel looks at him eye to eye, unwavering and unafraid.  
  
“Why are you protecting me?”  
  
A number of answers come to Jean-Éric’s mind; a few almost slip to his tongue, but it would be imprudent of him, if not reckless, to let any of them out, to let any of them hanging in the open spaces and wide silences that already exist between them. Not now, not ever: he had long learned to keep all that could harm him at arm’s length. Such an answer would have its consequences; it was only fair that he would chose the most apt answer after the ones he wished he could give, were the circumstances they found themselves in or the times they lived in completely different.  
  
“Because I want to. Because that’s what I do. I protect people.” Jean-Éric realizes the conversation took a turn for the heavy, and his pretense then is that he wishes to dispel the dark mood; in reality, it’s because he needs the smile and the laughter he has tried to not get too used to in the last few days, but has failed miserably in doing so. He smiles slightly and cocks his head to the side. “I got to get those in the pantry. Wanna help?”  
  
Daniel nods wordlessly, follows him, and hopes his shiver goes unnoticed.

 

***

 

“Come on, now!” First, Daniel sits on what seems to have become his favorite place to be, the steps of the front porch; he then produces two shot glasses and a tall bottle from behind his back. The bottle is placed down carefully; the glasses get slammed down on the wooden floor with a clap. “Don’t even begin to make that face. You deserve a drink, I deserve a drink.”  
  
“Stop saying that, I’m not making a face.”  
  
“Yes, you are! You know you are. I haven’t even been here that long, and I already know the kind of face you make when you’re unhappy!” Daniel pauses, catching his breath. “Fine. If you don’t want to, it’s okay. I understand.”  
  
Jean-Éric is not too sure about this new idea and what it entails; he has never been one to throw caution to the wind so easily, nor has he been one to forsake his duties. He is going to have night scouts for the entire upcoming week; his alertness needs to be at its utmost, his attention needs to be in its fullest, he must be ready and rested. Yet, this is his last free evening before it begins, and yet, something in the back of his mind continuously nags at him, ever since Daniel has arrived. Now, it tells him to take it, to take the opportunity, to simply unwind; at other times, it confronts him with what he is not ready to admit just yet, with evidence like the one that has just been presented to him, and when that happens, he ignores it until it goes away, or he occupies himself with what truly matters. He looks down at Daniel, looking at him with expectant eyes, and there he finds himself again, completely torn between what he  _wants_ to do and what he  _must_ do.  
  
 _Just this once_ , Jean-Éric tells himself.  _Just one time, it won’t hurt._  
  
Just this time, he allows the other side to win the battle.  
  
“No, let’s do it.”  
  
“Oh, that’s the spirit!”  
          
“But I’m having just one shot.”  
  
“Of course you are.” Daniel shakes his head in playful grief, barely attempting to hide his disbelieving tone.  
  
“I mean it,” Jean-Éric continues, eyebrows raised, as he lights the two oil lamps he keeps on the porch and sets them by the wooden railings before sitting across from Daniel. “Just one shot.”  
  
“Yeah, well, keep telling yourself that, mate.” Daniel grins joyfully, making quick work of unscrewing the bottle open, filling the two glasses to the brim and handing one of them to Jean-Éric in what can only be described as grand, elaborate, exaggerated flourishes of the hand. He doesn’t like to admit it, but if it came from any other person, he would find that sort of behavior annoying, boorish, even inadequate; but because it comes from Daniel, he finds it endearingly amusing instead. “You can’t have just  _one_ shot, that’s just impossible.”  
  
Jean-Éric takes a whiff of the clear liquid.  
  
“What is this?”  
  
“Try it first, then you get to ask the questions. It won’t knock you out on the first shot, this I can assure. And you’ve got to down it at once, no gagging or choking,” Daniel replies, a sly smile spreading across his lips. He raises his glass. “Cheers!”  
  
“Cheers!”  
  
Both toss their heads back in unison; both guzzle down the contents of the glasses the fastest they can. Jean-Éric feels his throat burn, but it doesn’t feel bad, it doesn’t feel bitter at all; heavy on the tongue, it’s got a tangy quality to its taste, and it lingers even after he swallows and slams the shot back down on the floor. He feels oddly stirred, as if the drink had lit up something inside himself, as if it had gone down in an intense burst of light; he breathes deeply, clutching the edge of the step with a free hand. He holds on tight, a reminder of reality, a reminder he must hold on, a reminder he must not let himself get caught up in that momentary feeling of brightness; and yet, the sweet, fragrant scent reminiscent of grapes also remains on him, weightless, threatening to set him afloat.  
  
“Wasn’t it good?” Daniel asks after he’s finished, and pours two more shots.  
  
Jean-Éric reckons he doesn’t quite have an answer to that just yet, but yes, another shot, and then maybe a third one afterwards, would definitely help him to know for sure.  
  


***

  
“I save this only for special occasions. Consider yourself lucky.”  
          
“I had never drank anything like it before, it’s really strong. Not that I’m complaining, it’s not bad. I like it when it’s strong.” Jean-Éric speaks slowly, not really thinking, his accent more drawn out as the hours disappear, the contents of the bottle dwindle and the shots are downed in pairs. “So, this is a special occasion.”  
  
“It’s been almost a week, I felt it was fitting. I think I’m almost done with the car, which I’m sure is something you’ll be relieved to hear, too.” Daniel winks and smiles, only for earnestness to descend upon his features instantly. “And, most importantly, it’s the only thing that I can offer to you, as a means of gratitude.”  
  
“Gratitude for what?”  
  
“For earlier today. Well, for everything, actually.”  
  
Daniel means every word. He knows he has been interfering with Jean-Éric’s routine since his unexpected arrival; he knows that supplies are scarce and the times are harsher than ever, he knows there is a drought and he knows he has taken longer than he said he would, although not entirely by his own fault, and that Jean-Éric will be glad to see him go. Even so, even if they don’t always see eye to eye, even if they clash from time to time, even if they both have wounds that have yet to heal completely and continue to hurt so much that any attempt to avoid them are futile, even if there is so much they still choose to hide from each other, Jean-Éric still stands by his side. Any other settler would have already thrown him out or denied him a place to stay by now, but Jean-Éric hardly wavers in his protective stance, a protection Daniel did not even believe to be particularly deserving of until their paths crossed.   
  
A protection he wishes he hadn’t grown so used to, and that he wishes he hadn’t felt so emotionally affected by.  
  
“I- I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary, really.” Jean-Éric is glad the blooming blush on his cheeks is not too evident under the pale moonlight. He knows his tone was jestful when he said it, but there is always an edge of truth to a joke, and he wishes Daniel didn’t believe he is so intent to see him gone; it’s the contrary, it’s the exact opposite from that. He doesn’t mind the valuable company he has gained in the past days, he doesn’t mind the moments spent together on the porch or by the parked car or around the table, he doesn’t even mind the demanding conversations they sometimes find themselves dragged into; he knows by now it’s more the alcohol doing its work to unveil certain ideas of his than anything else, but he finds himself almost wishing Daniel didn’t have to go at all, not now, not ever again.  
  
“You are, you just don’t realize it.”  
  
Jean-Éric shrugs, but not out of nonchalance, and turns to face Daniel.  
          
“You know, I’m really grateful that your car is so terrible it’s taking time to be fixed.”  
  
Daniel can’t help a smile. “Why is that?”  
  
“Because it means you are still here. And for me, that’s enough.” He grins and nudges Daniel’s shoulder lightly with his own; Daniel’s smile widens, tethering the thin line between shyness and pride. “You didn’t even need to break out the moonshine, though I’d guess that you and I both are glad you did.”  
  
Daniel nods in quiet agreement and silence settles between them. It’s not the sort of awkward silence they were first used to, however, nor is the sort of cumbersome, sharp silence that made itself present every time harrowing remembrances were unearthed. It’s a gentler sort of silence they find wrapped around themselves this time: easy, comfortable to be so immersed in it, almost as warm as the clear night. It has even a hint of hope to it; in that very moment, both feel as if the past has come back, as if tragedy and strife had never struck. Just two people, in a night that seems and feels timeless, sharing a drink, sharing a history, sharing a part of their lives, sharing a silent reflection on what can no longer be concealed or discarded in a whim.  
  
“How much is there still left?” Jean-Éric asks, wagging his head towards the bottle.  
  
Daniel reaches out behind his back for it and holds it up against the pale light, narrowing his eyes as if to see more clearly. “Just about for the final shots, I’d say.”  
  
“Good. I know we’ve been drinking for a while now, but I’d like to propose a toast.”  
  
"Some say that’s bad luck, mate.”  
  
“It’s only bad luck if you actually believe it to be bad luck.” Jean-Éric leans in, his tone almost conspiratorial, and deadpans. “Do you believe it’s bad luck?”  
  
“Never did, never will.”  
  
“That’s your answer right there, then.” He smiles. “Pour them.”  
  
“What are we toasting to?” Daniel inquires as soon as he’s finished, carefully handing over the second glass to Jean-Éric.  
  
Jean-Éric raises the diminute glass in his hand, first studying it carefully, then shifting his attention to the waiting figure by his side. He makes a mental note of everything; he makes a mental note of the spent evening, of words exchanged, of intentions unspoken, of the great moonlight glow, of a feeling he only now realizes to be of relief, for he had not felt such joy in simple, small actions for a long time. He feels as if inhaling and exhaling is natural again, and not a task; he feels suddenly whole, suddenly put together again, suddenly an entire person, full of yearning and aspiration, full of defiance and devoid of fear.  
  
“To surviving until now.” He pauses. “To being here and now.”  
  
Daniel nods and clinks their shots together.  
  
“To living, too,” Jean-Éric continues. “To living until now, and to living from now on.”  
  
“Cheers.”  
  
They hungrily down the last remaining contents of the bottle in a flash; Jean-Éric has barely set his glass back down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still reeling from the stinging bite of the moonshine when Daniel closes down on the small distance that remains between them, leans over and takes him in to a full kiss on the lips.  
  
Jean-Éric freezes at first, more out of the unexpectedness of that turn of events than anything else; it doesn’t take long for him to finally register what is happening and to reciprocate, to violently uproot and throw into the open what could no longer be hid or remain unacknowledged. He wants to feel; he cups Daniel’s face with one hand, caressing day-old stubble and tousled hair, drawing him further into the kiss. Daniel’s hand briefly grasps his before mirroring his movements; it feels at first as if their kiss is actually a clash against each other. Fierce, uncontrolled, electric, an explosion ignited by twin sparks within themselves and without possibility of dying out. He no longer remembers where he is or what he is ever meant to do; everything else seems so diminished next to the kiss nothing else seems to matter nearly as much as what is burning inside themselves.  
  
Yet, his sense of invincibility suffers when they break apart, and he doubts.  
  
“Please tell me this is not a mistake,” he whispers in Daniel’s ear, breathless, not letting go of him, not wanting to let go of the need that rises inside him, not wanting to give up on all that he has built so far, not wanting to act even more recklessly in face of desiring someone in such an ardent way like he seldom had before. It’s not quite fear that takes over him, in that brief moment, but a sudden feeling of anxiety, of anticipating a loss that is inevitably bound to happen. But Daniel is warm, so warm like he had imagined, so warm like the brightest of the summer days, he can barely think of anything else now other than all he needs is validation; all he needs to know is that none of this will be in vain.  
  
Daniel chooses to embrace him first, to bury his head against his shoulder and take a second to have his own moment of realization; this is no longer a dream or a fantasy. It became real in his own impulse, it became real in the way he was kissed back, it became real even in the briefest of the touches. He feels arms around him, cradling him ever so slightly, eyelashes fluttering against his neck, fingers knotting in his hair while the answer is yet to come; their bodies so knitted together he feels Jean-Éric’s torso rising in irregular breathing. His hands feel fresh against the back of his neck, causing him a cold shiver that reminds him of the one caused by a night breeze; if he closes his eyes, it feels like the dark of the night is drawing him in, and he can only willingly allow it.  
  
“It’s only a mistake if you actually believe it to be a mistake,” he replies, sighing deeply, allowing a hand to wander down Jean-Éric’s back, across his chest and onto his stomach, moving from worn out cotton to the rough waistline of his jeans and on to pressing the heel of his hand right against his cock. “Do you believe it’s a mistake?”  
  
Jean-Éric bucks into his touch easily, and kisses him briefly, mind made up.  
          
“I don’t. I won’t ever.”  
  
Daniel dives down for another kiss, for another discovery, to completely vanish into the darkness all at once; for a moment, he feels as if that is where he truly belongs, as if he had finally found something he barely knew to be missing, but that now became painfully clear to be something he desperately needed. He toys with undoing the button and the fly of Jean-Éric’s jeans, and he does so, only to have an impatient hand clutching and burying it deep within the tight space. Daniel strokes him once, twice, finding a rhythm in no time; the way Jean-Éric whimpers and moans into their kisses is driving him mad.  
  
“Upstairs,” Jean-Éric murmurs breathily. “Let’s go upstairs.”  
  
Daniel rises to his feet quickly and helps Jean-Éric up; he barely bothers with buttoning up, but gestures for Daniel to pick up the bottle and the shot glasses while he gathers the oil lamps with one hand and feels around his neck for the key with the other; he doesn’t remember ever taking so long with it, but there it goes, the key turns in the lock once, twice, the door goes unlocked and in they come. Everything is hastily forgotten right by the door once it’s shut, the lamps and the bottle and the glasses; there is no time left to lose. Jean-Éric pins Daniel against the door and clumsily paws at his shirt, padding along his stomach and waist before actually managing to take it off; it’s Daniel’s turn to blindly grasp Jean-Éric by the hips and grind their cocks together.  
  
Jean-Éric gasps out loud, pushing even harder against him, crushing their lips together in a wet, hot kiss; Daniel does not disappoint and responds, tugging at the edge of his undershirt, lifting it over his arms and head, grazing and then scraping his fingertips from the back of his neck all the way down to the naked curve of his spine and the small of his back. Featherlight, almost imperceptible, he does it again, slow enough that Jean-Éric can only shudder and beg in the hollow of his ear for him not to stop. Daniel takes his time to learn each inch of skin, each bump and each scar; he only stops when Jean-Éric drags him, arms still locked, to the mattress a few steps away.  
  
Daniel is the first to unhook himself and come down, making quick work of discarding shoes and jeans and underwear; Jean-Éric is next, drenched in anxious urgency, throwing aside his remaining articles of clothing to climb on top of Daniel’s gloriously sprawled body and pull him back up, clutching at his curls, kissing his jawline and neck, savoring the touch he had so wondered about. They suddenly find themselves at the threshold, wrapped in something unspeakable, something that neither can quite describe, and yet there is no consideration about turning back; there is no possibility, there is not a shadow of doubt about not seeing through the final realization of their desire.  
  
As positions shift, the final push is given, at last; as fingers entwine and lips touch, as skin grazes against skin and bodies are set into heaving motion, they slowly blend into each other, not with the thrashing desperation and anger of their beginnings, or the quiet understanding that came afterward. It’s something new; it’s something  _natural_. Moving against each other in a silence crosscut by moans and murmurs, it comes together so simply, as if they were always meant to do it, as if they could go on for the rest of their lives under that arrangement.  
  
One feels as if surrounded by the heat of the day; the other feels as if enveloped by the dark of the night.  It is only then that they realize there is no day without night, there is no moon without the sun, the impact on each other has been too great to be dismissed, there is no way to separate one from the other anymore.

  
***

  
When Daniel wakes up the next day, he blinks once or twice, unmoved, and reckons it’s still early in the morning, considering the amount of light seeping through the kitchen windows. He considers getting up right away, feeling a pressing need to get things done, and yet, he and Jean-Éric are still laying in a lanky limbed heap, the other man still fast asleep, face buried against his shoulder. Doubt clouds his mind; should he linger further? Should he remain further immersed in the welcoming enclosure of his arms, in the taste that still dances on his tongue, or should he simply shrug it off? He allows himself a brief moment of emotional submission, brushing off a lock of tawny hair falling over his closed eyes; Jean-Éric yawns and scoots just a tiny bit closer to him, his arm making a V-shape over his chest, hand resting over his shoulder.  
  
He studies Jean-Éric in the timid morning glow; he seems deep into his resting, his features relaxed, his whole figure lax, his smile a vague cross between satisfaction and contentment. Daniel thinks he deserves the rest; not just because of the night scout he has in the days ahead, but for everything else, for what he has to endure every day, for what he has been through and what is yet to happen. He deserves that moment of reprieve more than anyone else, and he will not disturb it.  
  
As for himself, it’s time to go on.  
  
He draws away from Jean-Éric slowly, first making sure his head still rests on the pillow they had been sharing, then getting to untangle himself; he takes a moment sitting on the edge of the worn out mattress to collect his thoughts and whatever articles of clothing happen to lie nearby, but doesn’t get up as immediately as he had planned. He casts a look over his shoulder, to the sleeping figure near him, and just like that, in the span of a second, all that he intended to forget comes back in a rush of feeling. A sort of profound dearth takes over him, and he wishes it didn’t come so suddenly like this, he wishes it didn’t cause him such unbridled grief, he wishes he wasn’t thinking about it right in that moment; he has no regrets over his actions since his arrival, especially over the night before, and he wishes to remain exactly like that, free of remorse or bitterness.  
  
He gets up, decides a shower will be better for him, to clear his mind; while he’s at it, he’ll cook breakfast, he’ll see if there is still some coffee left to brew because Jean-Éric will need it for the night, he’ll clean up the mess they made, he’ll make things right. He will give no more thought to what ails him; instead, he will allow everything to  _be_ in its right place, to fall into place naturally, just the way it’s meant to be, and everything will be alright.  
  
By the time he comes back down, Jean-Éric has rolled over to where he had been laying before, face buried in the pillow, his naked, scarred back bathed in dim light, and the mere sight of it is enough for the feeling to get the drop on him all over again.  
  
 _No,_ he defiantly tells himself. _I won’t let it get to me, not this time._

  
***

  
For the entirety of the day, they seem back to square one, only briefly speaking to each other; when Jean-Éric eventually wakes up, startled that Daniel is nowhere to be seen, the other man is already outside, buried underneath the car, attempting to drag the preying shadow away from his mind by whichever means he has at hand; the car, evidently, is best suited for that. Inside the cabin, Jean-Éric discovers it has been arranged, swept up, immaculately cleaned as if nothing had happened during the previous night; there is food ready for eating, there is not a single thing out of place, at least in regards to what’s material, at least in regards to the ragged puzzle his life truly is.  
  
Jean-Éric peers outside and admits to himself that there is, however, a missing piece; the missing piece is out there, busy, working restlessly to finish a task he intimately preferred not to be completed so soon. The missing piece remains out there, excised from him, excised from his arms, excised from the creature they gave rise to the night before, excised from what they became together, and Jean-Éric has to grip the wooden frame of the window, so overwhelming is the anguish he feels.  
  
Daniel is so intent in his labor that he skips lunch; when Jean-Éric asks, the answer is curt, that he’s full, that he’s had enough breakfast to go on until dinner. Jean-Éric hopes he is not doing all of this only to avoid him or to avoid  _talking_  to him, which to his mind is infinitely worse, and leaves him something ready for the meal before leaving for the night scout. When Daniel eventually comes in, thirsty and dirty and hungry, he finds the note tucked beneath the bowl, and his heart drops.  
  
  
 _Daniel,_  
  
 _I will be back in five hours, if everything is as uneventful as it usually is. Night scout is usually a bit more dangerous than day scout, but it’s been a quiet affair for some time now, and tonight should be no different. I don’t expect you to still be awake by the time I return, but feel free to bunk in my bedroom if you want to. Don’t feel pressured to - I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I just want you near._  
  
 _Talk to me. That’s all I ask: talk to me. Please._  
  


_\-- Jean-Éric_

  
  
Daniel can’t quite pinpoint what makes his stomach lurch more: a realization that  should have hit him far earlier, that there is always a possibility a scout does not go as intended and  _anything can happen to Jean-Éric,_ and that  _anything_  could pry the other man from his life just like that, with a stroke of the hand, with a bullet, with teeth and raw hunger, or that Jean-Éric is asking - no, that’s far too kind - he is  _begging_  Daniel to talk to him. Did he think the distance he had drawn between them was because of what had happened? Did that thought hurt him? He didn’t intend to; he never intended to. It pains him to admit it, but it will be over, sooner or later, he will have to keep moving and he will have to leave; yet, he must ask himself: how long has it been since he had last felt such a deep longing for anyone? How long has it been since desire has stirred the still surface of his essence? How long had it been since the notion of  _settling down somewhere_  even crossed his mind?  
  
He eats, cleans the kitchen, showers and dresses up in an agitated, outwardly silence; there is a cacophony of truncated ideas and memories to make up for waiting all alone in the darkened cabin. He thinks of the night before and how his predicament now is the opposite from then; he thinks of the wild beauty of their encounter, of the unleashed abandon and of the feeling and sensation invested, of how everything had led up to that and how it might have never happened were they not willing to submit to their innermost emotions. It was reciprocal then; it still is, now. It’s an odd feeling, to have fiercely desired for something, to not regret what occurred, to wish it to happen again but to already fear for an ending he knows to be far less satisfying than the beginning.  
  
Distraught, he lies on Jean-Éric’s bed; distraught, he listens on and waits.  
  


***

  
When Jean-Éric arrives, he is late, far later than he should have been, and the first thing he sees is that Daniel’s mattress is spotless and empty, propped up against the wall as it usually is left during the day; a small spark of hope lights up inside him. That can only mean he’s found the note; that can only mean not everything is lost, at least not yet. He hangs his backpack on one of the kitchen chairs and leaves the shotgun on the table, to be dealt with tomorrow. It’s time to get some rest, and hopefully leave behind the remains of a long, tiresome scout.  
  
He creeps up the stairs quietly, not meaning to disturb anyone’s sleep; and indeed, upon opening his bedroom door Daniel comes into view, laying on his back, lazy hands on his bare stomach, legs half-covered by his white quilt. He is so exhausted, both mentally and physically, he feels as if he has been away for years, instead of hours; because it feels he had not seen such a precious sight for so long, and because the hint of moonlight seeping through the drawn curtains gives the room a dreamlike quality, to his mind Daniel looks even more beautiful then than he remembered him being just a few hours ago. A twinge of something uncoils in the pit of his stomach, surging upwards; _he is here for you, he has waited for you right here_ , he tells himself, and Jean-Éric is grateful.  
  
Grateful that yesterday was not the end.  
  
He dresses down in silence, hanging his clothes up in the ancient mahogany wardrobe, putting on his terribly old pajama pants, slowly crawling over the bed and smiling. Tonight, he wants nothing more than to sleep the sleep of the just; tonight, he wants no more than quiet intimacy and the warmth he has yearned for all night long. He lies down on his side and wraps an arm around Daniel’s body. All the movement, however brief, rouses Daniel slight from his sleep and causes him to turn towards Jean-Éric.  
  
“Shh, go back to sleep. It’s just me,” Jean-Éric murmurs, caressing his curls.  
  
“You’re back,” Daniel mumbles, his eyelids still heavy, his thoughts a jumbled mess that could only register the fact Jean-Éric was by his side. “I missed you.”  
  
“I missed you too.” He presses an earnest kiss to Daniel’s forehead.  
  
“Come here.” He sighs, opening his arms a little, and Jean-Éric comfortably sinks into them, into the welcoming touch of Daniel’s hands on his hair, into the softness of faded cotton and feather, into basking in the scent of their skin mixed together, into leveling their respirations to the same rhythm, into the perfect proximity of their bodies, into a notion of being home he had given up in believing it could actually come true. He feels happy; for however long it lasts, he knows it will be infinite, and in that moment, he is satisfied with that.  
  
Stillness settles inside them, but neither is immediately asleep.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Daniel murmurs against the nape of his neck, and he shudders.  
  
“Don’t say that, you don’t have to apologize.”  
  
“Yes, I do. I do. I do.” He tightens the embrace. “I really do.”  
  
Jean-Éric can’t quite explain what takes over him, right there and then, feeling their bodies pressed together like that; it’s just like the night before, an unrestrained craving for what he has missed out on for so long now, an intense longing not derived from absence, or not easily explained as mere lust. It’s far more profound than that; perhaps, if it were lust and only lust, it would be easier to dismiss both the feeling itself and what is attached to it. But it’s not, it’s not just that, it’s the need, it’s the companionship, it’s the fact that life seems easier when the other man is by his side; it’s the fact that a connection has been drawn between them and nothing can change that. What happened last night, what is happening now, is nothing but an extension of that; nothing but the collision of two lives thrust together by strangeness and chance. His senses are wide awake at night, however tired he is, and so he pulls Daniel closer, kissing him, and it’s urgent, it’s hurried; such an unconscious fear it could the last time, such an intense abandon it doesn’t matter if it could be the last time.  
  
“Touch me,” Daniel pleads, hooking a leg over Jean-Éric’s. “Now.”  
  
Jean-Éric makes away with his shirt before getting on top of him. Kissing him again, he allows his hands to roam all over his chest, his neck, his arms, his navel, his hips; slowly, achingly slowly, he moves, continuing on his discovery of every small detail and characteristic of his, of what makes him go off. He moves down, choosing to replace the delicate path his fingers have traced with one of brief kisses and whispered words. On his neck, down his chest, across his arms, around his navel, ending on his hips, Daniel reacts wonderfully to everything, however impatient he is; no longer capable of speaking anything, relying on groaning and moaning, he bucks against Jean-Éric, once, twice, seeking release, seeking relief, feeling his body grow tenser by the moment. He is still feeling the pooling warmth in his stomach while he tugs at Daniel’s pants to take them off as quickly as possible; to his surprise, he is not wearing anything underneath. He gets a handful, working his strokes up and down, thumbing the head to better spread the pre-come, and Daniel shifts around, restless, needy, his face contorted with desire.   
  
The next thing Daniel knows and it’s the last thing he knows, is that Jean-Éric is nudging his thighs open and taking his cock in, greedily sucking, licking and massaging its underside with his tongue, moaning whenever Daniel’s hips buck forward and into his open mouth. He wishes it didn’t end so fast, but soon he is coming, fast and hard, with no further warning, and Jean-Éric is on him again, kissing him, and it feels so odd, but so enticing, feeling his own taste all over Jean-Éric’s lips. Grinning to himself, it’s his turn, and as he unties Jean-Éric’s pajamas, he can’t help but think that’s all he needs, that’s all he’s ever needed, that’s all he’ll ever need, to be touched like that, to feel unraveled, to feel complete only in the presence of another person.  
  
To feel complete only in the presence of Jean-Éric, and him only.

  
***

  
The next day, it feels even drier than usual. Jean-Éric tries to remember the last time it rained; a month and a half seems to be a safe guess, but he has to admit the endless loop he finds himself in sometimes causes him to lose track of time. A day melds into another and another and another, into scouts and handcraft, into books and chores, into the very few things that are an integral part of his life, into his dull, threadbare routine, and every single day is just like the day before and the day next. There is not a cloud in the sky, nor the faintest trace of a breeze; all is still, all is silent. Were this to happen sometime ago, he would find it foreboding and he would expect roamers or worse to be around; nowadays, he is alert, but disbelieving anybody to actually appear.  
  
This time, he finds it foreboding for an entirely different reason.  
  
He sits by himself in the shadow of the porch and watches the car in silence.  
  
 _He will be leaving soon._  The thought scurries from some dark corner of his mind into the open; now that it lies curled at his feet, born out of heat and anxiety, he can no longer pretend it doesn’t exist or that there is still any foolish, idyllic hope for a change of heart.  _He will be gone soon and there is nothing I can do to prevent this from happening._  
  
He feels dilapidated again, arid like the land surrounding them on all sides.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Daniel asks, sweating profusely, his cheeks flushed from the heat. He sits on the steps of the porch and reaches out for a water bottle he’s left in the shade. “You’ve been looking sullen all morning long.”  
  
“I was just thinking of something.”  
  
“Doesn’t look like it’s a happy thing to be thinking about.”  
  
Jean-Éric glances briefly at Daniel and shakes his head.   
  
“No, it isn’t.”  
  
He falls silent; it takes two more sips of water for Daniel to catch on and frown.  
          
“Is it about us?”  
  
“It’s about you.” Jean-Éric pauses. “It’s about you leaving.”  
  
“I’m not finished yet.”  
          
“You will, sooner or later.”  
  
That, Daniel can’t deny.  
  
“I- I should have told you this before. I think I’m going to be finished today,” he begins shyly, looking at his feet before bluntly concluding the sentence; he doesn’t attempt to blame it on the heat or the tiredness making him light headed enough to say whatever comes to mind. He is not one to conceal the truth, even if it’s a cruel truth, a truth that hurts them both equally. “There’s not too much left to do, but it’s too hot to go on now. Once the sun’s not so harsh on our heads, I’ll get back down there.”  
  
Jean-Éric nods once or twice, speechless, and fights to hold back the tears.  
  
“It doesn’t have to end like this, Jean-Éric. It really doesn’t,” Daniel says, getting up and sitting on the armrest of the bench. “I’m still here, I’m not gone yet.”  
  
He opens his arms and Jean-Éric allows himself to tumble into the safety of his embrace, into the life they have created together, into what he would never want to give away. His arms soon find their way around Daniel’s waist and hold tight onto him; still so warm, still so welcoming, still so like the sun, equal parts seething and forgiving. Hands caress his hair, arms lull him into a sense of protection; he should be strong, and yet he can’t hold it any longer, nor can he avoid that feeling of irremediable loss that the very person who is causing it is also the one attempting to make it go away.  
  
For what is perhaps the third time in his life, Jean-Éric breaks down crying.

  
***

  
“Did you actually sort of take the day off to watch me finish fixing the car?” Daniel asks, climbing on the edge of the porch and leaning on its wooden railing. “That’s kind of creepy.”  
  
Jean-Éric can’t help but to roll his eyes before replying; were those other times, he’d laugh, but now he doesn’t find the quip all that funny, and while crying earlier on had helped in briefly relieving his emotional state, he couldn’t possibly say he was happy. He could have gone and done other things with his afternoon, he could have read, he could have worked out, he could have found anything else to fill his mind, but no, he chose to remain here, by himself, glued to the seat as Daniel tinkered on the few final bits that still remained to get the car ready. When Daniel tried the engine, it howled back to life just like the first day; it hurt, and yet Jean-Éric could not look away.  
  
“I just wanted to see how it was going.”  
  
Daniel holds onto the railing, pulling back and stretching his arms.  
  
“It went fine.”  
  
“I haven’t forgotten about it, by the way.”  
  
“Forgotten what?”  
  
“The trip to the stream.”  
  
Daniel blushes and leans on the railing again, arms crossed, shoulders relaxed.  
  
“It’ll hinder you. I don’t want to do that.”  
  
“We can leave early tomorrow and spend the morning there. There’s plenty of time to get back here and I can get some rest in the afternoon. And then, you’re free to go.” Jean-Éric can’t avoid getting choked up at the last sentence; this time, however, instead of breaking down, he gets up and stands face to face with Daniel. “You are not a hindrance. You never were one. Every single person that comes here eventually leaves sooner or later, this I’m already used to, but if there is one person I’d rather never see gone, it’s you.”  
  
There are certain things Jean-Éric needs to say, otherwise they will get stuck, lodged in his throat, ingrained to his self, never to come out; there are certain things he needs to say or he will go mad. Turning around resolutely, he unlocks the door and comes in; Daniel quickly jumps over the railing and follows him in a frenzy. Jean-Éric is only one or two steps ahead; he is quick to reach out and circle one of his wrists to pull him closer, and it only takes a nudge forward for them to fall into another kiss.  
  
Daniel embraces him after they pull apart, his heart in a rush. He doesn’t want to let go, but he will have to; he won’t let it go, but he will be forced to. He never found any difficulty in letting go of anything whenever he needed to do so, however difficult it was, but he had never come across a time like this, a time where he cannot let go, a time where letting go means living a lackluster life in an equally lackluster world.  
  
“Come on over here, come on,” Jean-Éric whispers in his ear and drags him to sit on the tiny two-seat sofa with him; in the ensuing tangle Jean-Éric does sit down, but Daniel ends up lying belly up with his head resting on Jean-Éric’s thigh, legs falling off the armrest, silly laughter sprouting from his lips. Jean-Éric peers down at him for a second, shakes his head and laughs along, allowing his arm to find its way around his chest and neck, fingers curling to caress Daniel’s chin; on his side, Daniel has to admit both that it sends a shiver running down his spine and that it’s a view he does not tire of, looking up at the other man and studying his features: the elegant curve of his neck and shoulders, the strong lines of his jaw, the dark shade of his beard, the high cheekbones and the soft brown eyes, the seldom heard sound of his laugh, the long fingers he entwines with his own, every detail and every single thing he would fight to keep with him at all times, delicately wrapped up for conservation, never to be stashed away, never to be forgotten.  
  
“That’s it, that’s all I could ever wish for,” Jean-Éric eventually speaks up, head tossed back, his voice heavy with a sort of longing poignancy, his arm still curled around Daniel. “I wish it was always just like this. Just...  _simple_  like this.” He looks down at Daniel, his expression serious. “You understand what I mean?”  
  
Daniel assents, because he knows the feeling down to a tee, down to the most profound corners of his heart and to the farthest depths of his being, and while he lifts himself up to kiss Jean-Éric once again, an idea suddenly blooms to life in his mind.  When the kiss deepens, so does the idea, growing, gaining an outline, gaining color and life, and for a moment or two, while he climbs onto Jean-Éric’s lap and draws him near, he thinks there is still hope for the two of them.

 

***

 

Near the end of that night’s scout, Jean-Éric sits down to drink whatever’s left of the coffee Daniel had prepared for him before leaving; the dinner that he also insisted on preparing had already been eaten some time ago. Yet another uneventful night; yet another night wondering if threats still stalked the land as before, if they had long perished, whether by the harsh conditions or by killing each other for food, if the only challenge the survivors had now was to actually make a life out of whatever remained behind. There is even a mild breeze in the air, tonight, enough to tousle his hair; his wondering turns to the possibility of rain soon as he rummages around the backpack for the thermos flask, and on it meanders, through an odd stream of thought, until he swipes up both the flask and a half-folded paper.  
  
It wasn’t there before.  
          
He hastily unfolds the note, curious as where it came from, having an idea of just  _who_  could have possibly put it there in the first place, trying to guess at what exact moment it was slipped in there, but none of those conjectures could have prepared him to its contents. Four words jump out at him, scribbled in scrawny handwriting right on the middle of the paper.  
  


  
_Come away with me._   


  
  
There is no need for a signature; after all, there is only one person who could have written that specific proposal to him. There is no need to add to it; the sentence was direct enough in its statement and anything else would be superfluous. His first reaction is to fold it again and toss it inside the backpack in a rush, as if someone could creep up to him and catch him in the act; when he picks up the then forgotten flask, now hoping the coffee will sober him up, he is trembling. It’s always a surprise, with Daniel; it’s a surprise when he suddenly appears at his doorstep, it’s a surprise when he stays, it’s a surprise when he makes him laugh and forget the heat, it’s a surprise when he keeps in line, it’s a surprise when they kiss the first time, it’s a surprise when Jean-Éric himself realizes he has grown fond of him, it’s a surprise when he opens his backpack and there is a note asking him to-  
  
Jean-Éric reaches out into the backpack and reads it again, just to make sure he is not seeing things, that he has not made that note up, that he is not misunderstanding things, but no, it’s real, it’s crumpled and bent but it’s  _real_ , and there is no way such a simple sentence can be misunderstood.  _Come away with me_ , it screams at him.  _Come away with me_ , and it’s not a request, nor it is an order, it’s a wish translated to words and put to paper, simple as that. It’s the aftermath not of what was started a couple of nights ago, but what was started days ago, in the middle of the day, under the sun, and here it is, the end of it, what he never expected to hear, what he never expected to be asked to:  _come away with me._  
  
He imagines them in the car, side by side, windows down, driving through wide, luminous expanses of land, and he can’t ignore the rush of freedom he feels at the mere thought of it; he imagines them stopping every now and then to refuel, to gather supplies, to find some rest in abandoned places at night, he imagines them driving so far away they get to see the old cities, he imagines them driving so far away they get to the coast, so far away he will never be found again, so far away nobody knows them and nobody gives a damn, so far away that it doesn’t really matter where it is, because Daniel is with him. It’s a tough life, but he cannot say his life is any easier than that, even having a place to live and supplies certain to be delivered to him every week.   
  
He knows he shouldn’t even begin to consider it, he knows there will be consequences if he actually follows through with it, but the end result seems so enticing he can’t avoid entertaining the idea for the remainder of the scout, the duration of the walk back to the cabin and until he once again falls asleep, drained, in Daniel’s arms.

  
***

  
Daniel wakes up to find the bed empty, the bedroom door ajar and a strong scent of coffee in the air; even in his still hazy state of mind, he knows it’s already early in the morning, it’s already  _the_  morning, and he should go downstairs and help Jean-Éric out with breakfast. As he dresses up and does the bed for Jean-Éric, he thinks of the note; he prefers to think the distinct lack of any comment is because a positive answer regarding it will come, not because Jean-Éric might have not come across it or because he is pretending to have not seen it, or because he disapproved its contents. They might have known each other for only a handful of days, but Daniel feels he knows Jean-Éric intimately; he would never fail to acknowledge something that’s been said to him, he would never simply let something slip away and pretend it never came to fruition. He will deliberate about it, he will weigh each side, he will think of the consequences, and only then he will give his definite conclusion about it.  
  
Until then, he must wait.  
  
Coming down the stairs, Daniel finds him in the kitchen, his back hunched over the sink, pouring the steaming liquid into two identical thermo flasks; in front of him, the curtains are wide open, the sky a brisk shade of dark cerulean, the sun still a pale burst of light about to rise on the horizon. Jean-Éric stands tall, his frame poised, his movements precise, his demeanor graceful, and there is an acute swelling of feeling inside Daniel, as if he knew that would be the last time he’d see such a thing; as if he guessed, in his essence, that there would be no more of that the next day, no matter how hopeful he was of the opposite, and because of this, that brief moment should be treasured, for there would not be a tomorrow for the two of them.  
  
He approaches Jean-Éric, embracing him in silence, leaning his forehead on the curve of his shoulder; closing his eyes, he feels warm, soft, like a proper summer night used to be back home, in his younger years. So much had been forgotten, so much had been buried, so much had been left behind, but now he is flooded by memories, by the life before, by the life now, and to survive in the now, he needs to hold on to a lifeline he would have never expected to find, he cannot let go of the lifeline Jean-Éric offers him without asking for anything in return. Jean-Éric murmurs something in his ear, he doesn’t quite discern what; he covers Daniel’s arms with his own and joins their hands together, and together they remain found in the dark.  
  
“Is there anything I can do?” Daniel eventually asks, punctuating the question with a kiss to his neck.  
  
“Well, I’m almost done here. You can set the table.”  
  
“Okay, I will.” He kisses him again, and it’s Jean-Éric’s turn to shut his eyes. “Anything else? I got out my backpack yesterday, we can share the load for the trip.”  
  
“Let’s eat first. We can get to that afterwards.”  
  
“Alright.” Daniel nods, breaking apart. “No need to rush anything.”  
  
“Yeah.” Jean-Éric concurs, his voice subdued. “We have time.”  
  
 _There’s something else you could do, you know. You could stay here with me._  He thinks, as they sit down to eat; this time, he chooses not to speak, at least not yet.  _Sharing the load every day._

  
***

  
As soon as the sun has risen completely, off they go, down a track of beaten dirt. Silence trails closely behind them in their slow descent; only the sounds of nature are heard around them, whether in the wind propelling them forward and dappling the sky of clouds, in the buzzing and crackling of the insects or the chirping of the birds. Daniel takes in the sights with childlike awe, trying to look at everything and everywhere all at once; by his side, Jean-Éric remains in quiet contemplation. Sometimes, in their unconscious need to be near, they walk too close and the back of their hands brush; the effect is immediate in that it feels like an electrical surge there and then, and they hold their breath at once before pulling away. Sometimes, the path is narrow, lined with rocks, and Jean-Éric leads the way; at those moments, Daniel follows him, eyes glued to his back.  
  
Lost in thoughts that meander in and out of the events of the previous days, they press ahead, only stopping to drink water and stretch their legs a little; Daniel is eager to know more about their surroundings, every time they stop, and Jean-Éric is glad to comply, once they resume their journey, explaining about the area, about the actual valley and the actual stream, about the name of the things, about the ancient trees and the clearings and paths that were open, and on they go, talking intimately, only for themselves to ask and answer. Eventually, doubt gets to Daniel, and he can’t help it.  
  
“Do you mind if I ask you something?”  
  
Jean-Éric casts him a tranquil look.  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
“How did you end up here in Valley Stream?”  
  
His eyes become clouded, but he doesn’t mind telling, not to Daniel.  
  
“Before it happened, I used to travel a lot. When it struck, I was over here for work. Imagine that, the whole of an ocean between me and my family, and not a single possibility or mean of getting back. You know how it went, how at the beginning we still had an inkling of news seeping through the noise and the chaos, and I soon found out whatever was left of France was barely inhabitable, let alone be called home by anyone. I had to go on, I couldn’t give up. I did spend some time by myself, but it wasn’t for me; I eventually came across Mr. Anderson, he brought me to the settlement, and that was it. I learned to shoot, I learned to kill, I learned to defend myself and others. I’m still here. And so are you.” He pauses. “I  _know_  you, Daniel. We might have taken different paths, but you and I, we lost everything. You are over here too, on your own. We know what it means to lose all the ground we stood on, and we know what it takes to pick up the few pieces that remained after the end and go on, being brave when there’s no hope, fighting through scary days, pulling tricks out of our sleeves.”  
  
Daniel nods, a sob stuck in his throat. He promised he wouldn’t cry, not again, not for any reason; he swallows dryly and instead reaches out blindly for Jean-Éric’s hand, suddenly needing to know he is there, that he is not gone, that it’s not over; when he finds it, he clutches it, rough palm against rough palm, fingers tangled. It feels  _real_ , it feels  _tangible,_ and he cannot ignore the weight or the truth of those words.  
  
“That’s why when something good comes along, we hesitate to let go.”  
  
Jean-Éric nods in agreement, eyes firm on Daniel’s, tightening the grip.  
  
“Ever since it happened, ever since I became a roamer, standing still was never an option. I no longer had a home of my own, so the road became my home. I had to keep going, I had to keep moving because I felt that if I ever stopped, it would be the death of me; if I ever stopped, the ghosts I tried to get rid of would get me at last. The ghosts never stopped following me, wherever I went. The people I lost, the people I met along the way, they are always there, unchanged, reminding me of failures I have not forgotten, reminding me of actions I took I was never proud of. But then I got here, I got to stop longer than a day or two, I got to  _you_. I got to stand still, and the view reminds me of the home I had. You became home to me. You became the home I needed all along. This is why I don’t want to let go. This is why I  _can’t_  let go.” Daniel slightly raises their hands joined together, his voice soft. “This is why I want you to come with me.”  
  
Jean-Éric frowns.  
  
“I’m not going to lie to you and say that I didn’t spend the better part of last night and this morning imagining a million scenarios involving you, me and your car after I found your note, because I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about  _us_. I have to admit I did not expect to find it, nor that you’d be so forward. I- I can’t really begin to describe how much finding your note moved me.” He pauses as he stops to check his surroundings and, intimately, to dispel the feeling that begins to spread over him again; with a hum, he motions his head to the left for Daniel to come along. “We’re getting closer.”  
  
“Go on,” Daniel chimes up once they are treading again on the grassy path. “Please. There’s a catch there somewhere, I can tell.”  
  
“Yesterday, even after I arrived home, as I dressed down, as I waited for sleep to come, I kept turning this over and over. I thought about it for so long and deliberated about it so carefully, I wound up building a whole new world for us in my mind, and I was decided to go with you. It didn’t matter where it was that you’d take me; what mattered was that we’d be together and nothing could take that away from us.”  
  
“Now comes the part where you tell me you had a change of heart.”  
  
His tone is dry, and Jean-Éric is sad because he is right.  
  
“I had a change of mind, to be more precise.” He pauses. “I want to be with you, Daniel. There is nothing I’d rather be doing now than taking you down to the stream, than spending time with you, than  _being_ with you. But as wonderful as all my flights of fancy were, as liberating as I felt them to be, reality eventually caught up with me.” His heart is heavy now that he has to say it, but it needs to be said, it needs to be explained. “I can’t come with you. People depend on me here. I made a commitment to protect them, I’ve never failed on that, and I don’t intend to fail it now. I can’t abandon them.”  
  
“I see,” Daniel says, his voice small, his eyes misted on the verge of tears.  
  
Jean-Éric realizes this, the increased grip on his hand, the overwhelming feeling of sorrow hanging between themselves, and stops right there on the meadow to take Daniel into his arms and wipe away the salt from his eyes, to show him there’s another way out, that it doesn’t have to be so hard on them if both of them realize one can no longer be without the other. Daniel sobs quietly on his shoulder, and he allows him to let it all out.  
  
“Stay,” Jean-Éric begins, his voice barely above a mutter, providing the simplest solution he can think of, the easiest solution for both of them. “You told me you found a home here, so stay here. You don’t have to run anymore.”  
  
“You can’t take someone else in, there aren’t enough supplies, there isn’t enough space, you have your own life and your own duties and I have no place in that, I’d be useless, worse than a dead weight. I’ve never done any good to anyone, anywhere.” Daniel sounds increasingly desperate, an irrational fear coursing himself so powerfully he feels his head light, the feeling of shame for actions of times past turning his mind into an anxious blur. “And I can’t be a burden to you, not anymore, no more than I have already been.”  
  
“Please, stop saying that, stop believing you’re a burden or a nuisance to anyone, please.” Jean-Éric cups his face with both hands and lightly kisses him, trying to brush away all that doubt and self-loathing. “I’ll take you to the settlement, you’ll get to know everyone, we’ll tell them you gave up on the road and want a place to stay. We’ll talk to them, I’ll show them you can be trusted. You can come scouting with me! Two pairs of eyes are better than one, right?” He laughs breathily, having ran through ideas and plans in a flash, and, suddenly, it’s clear to him: there’s another world built right there for them, just for them, without any need to run away or escape. He thinks he can see just the hint of a smile flickering on the corners of Daniel’s lips; does he realize it too? “Not to mention we seem to be sharing the same space just fine, aren’t we? Down to the same bed, even.”  
  
Daniel smiles at the last sentence; Jean-Éric smiles back at him, but it’s too brief, too fast, just a slight trace of hope he barely has time to keep safe before Daniel is downcast again, eyes darkened, face constrict.   
  
“I have so much fear in me, so much fear.”  
  
“Don’t be afraid, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”  
          
Daniel is afraid, yes; afraid of not measuring up to Jean-Éric’s standards, afraid of not being able to giving him what he needs, afraid of being as no good as he is, as he has always been, as he will always be, afraid of failing once again. He is a problem that has no solution, he is a threat to the settlement, he is a menace to Jean-Éric’s well-being, he has all the reasons not to stay. However, he can’t afford to not have him present in his life; he can’t afford to lose everything he has built over this smattering of blissful days, nor can he afford to have a new ghost chasing him down the winding road he chose for a life, a ghost surely to catch him up faster than all the others, a ghost made of unrealized potential and sorrow.  
  
“I’m afraid I won’t be good enough for you, or for the settlement, or for anybody, for that matter. But I’m even more afraid of losing you once and for all.”  
  
“Oh, Daniel.” Jean-Éric shakes his head. “You are good to me, you’ll be good for us all too. You help me out, you’re always here for me. Your  _presence_ , I can’t quite explain it, but your presence here made me feel alive again, as trite as it may sound, but it’s true. Other people have come and gone, have stayed here, but you, you’re one of a kind. It’s different, getting back home after a long scout and knowing there is someone waiting for me and that someone is you, sitting down to eat and having you there to talk to, finding comfort in your arms at night. I wish you could see it, I wish you could see how  _special_  you are. Your past doesn’t matter to me.” He pauses, fully aware they’ve had enough of that conversation. “Look. I don’t want to force you into anything. Take your time, think about it, there’s a whole day ahead of us.”   
  
A kiss is pressed to his forehead, gentle, reassuring; Daniel sighs tiredly.  
          
“Hey, listen,” Jean-Éric whispers in his ear, a smile to his face. “Can you hear it?”  
          
“What?”  
  
“The stream.” His smile widens, reaching out to take Daniel’s hand again. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

  
***

  
_It’s beautiful down here at the stream_ , Daniel decides after not too long; the greenery might be faded, or even a pale brown in shade in certain places due to the drought, but it’s exuberant nonetheless, and he likes the quiet rustle of the current. It has a calming effect on him, as does the cold, humid breeze rattling the grass and clearings around them; it curls around himself, caressing his back and chest with light fingers, slowly clearing all remaining traces of anguish and rage with each short breath.  
  
“Can I?” he asks, turning to Jean-Éric and motioning towards the stream.   
  
Standing only a couple of feet behind Daniel, he shrugs and nods.  
  
“Of course! Just be careful with the gravel, it gets a bit slippery.”  
  
Daniel slowly approaches the cobbled stream bank. He watches the rapid movement of the flowing riffle down the stream bed and over small slopes made of stone, as far as the eye can see, it’s peaceful, a refreshing change from the harsher conditions above. He crouches by a pool and sticks a hand in. Crisp, fresh to the touch, clear enough that he can see his hand smoothly darting back and forth; soon enough, he runs the same hand through his hair once, then again, and both hands get dunked in the water to wash over his face. Droplets of water fall everywhere, all over his shirt, seeping down his neck and chest, and he feels good, he feels invigorated, he feels renewed.  
  
“It’s a pity the stream is too shallow. I’d have liked to take a swim,” he muses aloud, lifting his hand up so water slips through his fingers and falls back into the stream.  
  
“It’s not the widest or the deepest stream that there is, but it’s what we have. It suits us just fine, though.” Jean-Éric stands by his side, looking over the path they came through, or at least as far as his eye can see. He looks down at the crouched figure by his side. “I didn’t know you were a swimmer.”  
  
“I wasn’t a pro, but I liked to swim, yeah. It was good exercise, back then.  
  
Jean-Éric sits down on the bank, where gravel ends and grass begins, arms propped on his knees, and soon Daniel lies down by his side, discarding his backpack by his side. It’s a bright day, so bright it’s hard to keep his eyes open; sunlight filters down the valley through clustering clouds, though, and it grows grayer and grayer as the hours pass. He turns his attention to the man by his side, old hat firmly stuck to his head, backpack leaning on his left leg, back arched towards him, and something swells inside himself, as it has often happened in the last few days, as it often happens when his eyes happen to fall upon him. Such a feeling of being so used to Jean-Éric and everything that defines him that it feels he has known him forever, that he’s seen his belongings fading and his days wearing out, such a feeling of comfort, such a feeling of intactness. Daniel thinks of the scars hidden underneath the long sleeved shirt; he thinks of the other scars, the ones he hides inside. Jean-Éric is just far enough that Daniel can easily reach out for him; he’s just far enough that he is able to rest a hand on his back.  
  
Five fingers, flat on his back, and Jean-Éric breathes in sharply at the contact. As it remains there, it feels like heaven, it feels like hell, it heals, it hurts, it feels like a hundred sensations, all rolled into one, all part of an overarching emotion, all part of what they have created for themselves under the sky, over days and nights, through words and actions. He finds it difficult to think, mind misted by memories, thoughts aggravated by the lack of resolution they find themselves in; he sighs, but there is no relief in it.  
  
“I wish it didn’t hurt as much as it does.”  
  
Jean-Éric turns around slightly, glancing at Daniel over his shoulder.  
  
“It will be alright.”  
  
His voice is barely a thread, his eyes are unreadable.  
  
“No, it won’t.” Daniel rises back to his side, his hand moving to rest on his shoulder. “You know it won’t. We know what happened during these days. You’re not the same person you were when I arrived, I’m not the same person I was since I arrived. It’s going to hurt. It’s already hurting. Don’t try to deny it.”  
  
Jean-Éric just stares at him, a defeated look to his hunched figure, and he’s not surprised to find it reflected all over Daniel’s features. Of course it won’t be alright, of course it hurts, it would be odd if it didn’t hurt, if they weren’t hurting at all, if they were taking it in stride; the pain is well present everywhere they go, the pain echoes back and forth over the remains of the walls they had built to shield themselves, the pain is spilling out of their backpacks, the pain is in their water, the pain becomes entombed in themselves. Before, the pain had a number of reasons to exist; in this moment, however, it stems from the same source.  
  
Maybe that was always how it was meant to end.  
  
“There’s something I wanted to ask to you.”  
  
“What’s it?”  
  
“Did the idea of staying ever cross your mind, before I mentioned it?”  
  
“Of course it did. It didn’t last, though; I never expected you’d ask me to stay.” Daniel pauses to stare at him. “You weren’t the only one building a new life for us in your head.”  
  
Jean-Éric lowers his head, his face burning. He finds no tears to cry anymore, but he gets choked up nonetheless, angry at himself, angry at Daniel, angry at life and its circumstance, unable to utter a single thing. He shuts his eyes tightly and a white rage rises inside him, fiery, spread out across his limbs and his chest and his mind. He wishes he could escape, he wishes to run and not have to look back; Daniel wishes to stay and to no longer live beneath the shadow of his past. They want to do it in the company of one another, but it’s not simple, it never was, it was never meant to be simple; they both want something they are not allowed to have, not now or ever again.  
  
He doesn’t feel Daniel pulling away, nor does he hear the sound of crunching gravel; all he feels is the tingle of dripping cold water on the nape of his neck when he comes back, just enough to put out his fury, just enough for him to exhale the anger. He opens his eyes, but doesn’t look up, remaining with his forehead propped on his crossed arms; Daniel kneels down in front of him, holds his knees, clutches at his arms with wet fingers to pull them away, and  _fuck_ ,  _his touch_ , Jean-Éric thinks; he is trying, he wishes he didn’t give in, he wishes he couldn’t give up, but he finds himself yearning for it, yearning for the hands cupping his neck and lifting his chin to look him in the eye, yearning for all of him, for all that Daniel means to him, for all that Daniel  _is_.  
  
This time, the kiss is slow, timid if compared to before; it begins hesitant when Daniel pulls him closer and their lips meet, but it’s enough for Jean-Éric to feel adrift again, completely cast off from reality or surroundings. There’s the kiss, and only the kiss, as it deepens; there’s Daniel and only Daniel, as his hands find their way around his waist to place him right where he wants him, right where he needs him, right on top of him. Daniel is quick to wrap his legs around his frame, and it only takes a brief moment of catching up on panting breath for both of them before he begins moving against Jean-Éric. Jean-Éric groans and thrashes back, hard, taking in the low moans and gasps dropped all over his neck and his ear, saving each one of them for later, saving each thrust and reaction for when he no longer will be allowed to have them, saving each caress and stroke for when all he will have left is the memories and nothing else.    
  
Raw, wild like animals, they go at it, unable and unwilling to stop; when the pressure becomes too much to bear, they claw at each other’s belts and buttons, pouncing to get rid of whatever restraints still hold them down. Jean-Éric lifts his hips and Daniel helps him in lowering his jeans and underwear at once; he is quick to return the favor, and soon they are pushing against each other, in a rhythm of their own, in a world of their own. Unleashed, they go on, and neither can’t quite explain why it is so easy for them to become so lost in each other, so tangled in each other’s flesh and in each other’s thoughts they are increasingly turning into one and the same. Unleashed, they go on, lips locked, hands astray on each other’s bodies, legs coiled around each other, moving and moving until there’s no more holding back; Jean-Éric comes first, messily, all over Daniel’s stomach, and as he rides out his orgasm Daniel follows suit, whimpering, head buried against his shoulder, fingers curled tight in his hair.  
  
The silence that follows is not peaceful; there is the stream nearby, there are the birds chirping and the wind in the trees, there’s their breathing, irregular and imperfect, there’s the feeling of fragile lightheadedness, there’s the fear of pulling away, there’s the fear of tearing their bond apart once and for all by their own hands. Daniel wonders, irrationally, if they could remain joined like that until they died, because he has no desire to cut himself out of here; Jean-Éric thinks, in a haze, that he’ll never be able to defer to such reckless abandon ever again, but it’s alright, there will never be another time like this, and both decide, unconsciously, that there’s no need to rush it, not now, not on the edge of the end.  
  
Jean-Éric closes his eyes and kisses Daniel; above, grey skies thunder on, undisturbed.

  
***

  
Because time can never be truly held back, the remaining hours by the stream drift away at the mercy of the wind, rapid as if they had only barely existed at first, mingled to conversations about what once was and what took its place, about what remained and what was lost, about what would be of everything from then on, mingled to laughter, mingled to tears, mingled to every emotion there was, and so it flew away. An odd sort of tranquility lingers over them after all that went down in their shared time together, after all that happened and all that could not be avoided. As they gather their belongings and begin the trek back to the cabin, there is a sense of gentle acceptance in their hushed words to each other and in the enjoyment of each other’s company, but there is still some defiance to the way their hands remain clasped, or to the proximity of their bodies; intimately, they know time is running out and any and every moment and contact must be prized.  
  
“Where are you going next?”  
  
"I’m not sure. I might keep going east, I might go south instead, I’m still undecided.” He grimaces. “Wherever I go, I wish it leads me to the sea. I haven’t seen it in years.”  
  
“Do you miss the sea?”  
  
“It’s maybe what I miss the most about home, after my family,” Daniel replies simply, his smile hinting at melancholic, deep-rooted longing. “It’s funny. I hadn’t thought about home for a while now, but lately it has always been in my mind, in some way or another.”  
  
Jean-Éric is pensive for a moment.              
  
“I guess you still get to carry your home along, in your memories, in your experiences, in who you are. It’s not the same, I know, but at least something remained in you, and because of that, it remains alive as well.” He leans in, knowing that is true of himself as well. “And sometimes, it just so happens that home is found somewhere new, along the way, in the unexpected places. I found it. You found it too, didn’t you?”  
  
Daniel blushes, his thumb brushing the side of Jean-Éric’s hand, his face honest.  
  
“You’re right. Our homes live in ourselves too, they always did, they always will.” He stops, drawing Jean-Éric in for a brief kiss. “In here, I found far more than just a home. And what I found here lives on and lives _in_  me, wherever I go, whatever I do, ‘til the day I die.”

  
***

  
Jean-Éric sits on the steps of the front porch and watches as Daniel folds up clothes, packs up possessions and lines up his dirty traveling bags nearby. Much to his chagrin, it doesn’t take long; Daniel never carried too much on him, and some of his belongings remained in the trunk of the car as they were never needed in the cabin. When the last bag is dropped outside, he quickly gets up, so much that Daniel gives him a confused look, unsure of what is going on.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“I want to help you with the bags.”  
  
His tone is rising, urgent, bordering on desperation, and Daniel is at a loss.  
  
“I- I think I can manage, thanks. It’s just a matter of wedging everything in the trunk now,” he replies, reaching out for the nearest bag; Jean-Éric does just the same, covering the hand on the strap with his own. Their eyes meet, and Daniel sees in them the same silent pledge the statement held moments before. He doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what to do, and lets go of the strap. Jean-Éric descends the steps and moves towards the car; Daniel picks up the two remaining bags and follows him.  
  
 _So, that’s it, then. This is how it ends, and it ends too soon_ , he thinks to himself, as he instructs Jean-Éric on arranging the bags, on what should go on top of what, and he feels a heaviness to his heart like he has never felt before; the moment to go has actually arrived, but he doesn’t believe it. He doesn’t want to believe it, and for a moment the shadow of doubt is swift in his mind, there’s the desire to say it’s all wrong, that he’s wrong, that he doesn’t want the loneliness of the road any longer, that Jean-Éric can take those bags right out off the trunk and back in the cabin because he is going to stay, and he’s almost saying it, he opens his mouth to say it, but Jean-Éric is embracing him tightly, like he has never before, and he is kissing Jean-Éric again and holding back on the words and the sentences and the tears in exchange for one last breath from his lifeline.  
  
“There’s something I want to give to you,” Jean-Éric says once they break apart. “Two things, actually, but I got to get one of them in the cabin. Wait here, please.”  
  
“I’m coming with you,” Daniel states, a shy smile, holding on to Jean-Éric’s hands. “Don’t you think you’ve already given me far more than I deserve during my stay here?”  
  
Jean-Éric tows him by the hand, shaking his head in disagreement.  
  
“All I gave to you, I gave willingly. And you  _are_  deserving of it all, too.”  
  
In the living room, Jean-Éric opens drawers crammed with old papers and books, with things he barely remembered to be there, with notebooks full of rambling musings written in moments he needed to speak and had nobody to listen. He knows he has it somewhere; not in the first drawer, not in the second, nor in the third. Daniel waits for him a few feet into the cabin, looking at the worn out sofa, the white curtains covering the dirty windows, the empty chairs and empty table at the kitchen, the spot where his mattress used to be, the old parqueted floor, the place he learned to dwell, the place he learned to treasure, the place in which he was the happiest in years. He sighs and shifts around, briefly looking at his car outside, taking in the humid breeze; the rain Jean-Éric had so long waited for is to come soon, and it should be a good test to see if the repairs on his car are going to be lasting.  
  
“Yes! Found it!” Jean-Éric exclaims, overjoyed.  
  
It’s another scramble until he finds a pen that works; a red, thick-leaded pencil he barely remembered belonging to him winds up coming to hand at the moment, and he is hastily scribbling away when Daniel approaches him to figure out to see what’s going on.  
  
“A map?” Daniel asks, awed, looking over Jean-Éric’s shoulder. “What for?”  
  
“For you to go to the sea.” He dots a line along the path to be followed, careful as not to miss anything, writing down further instructions on the other side of the map. His hands tremble slightly, but he never falters, and once he’s done, he folds the map and hands it to Daniel. “These are the bearings. We’re somewhat far from the coast, but you should be able to get to it easily in two or three days if your car doesn’t break down and the rain eases down a bit, four if you want to enjoy the scenery.”  
  
Daniel is speechless, his eyes wide in astonishment.  
  
“Come on, don’t give me that face.” Jean-Éric smiles at him. “Here’s something else.”  
  
He reaches underneath the collar of his shirt, not for the chain with the key, but for his other necklace. Two black leather ribbons, joined together at the front by two silvery, interlocked rings, and it’s effortlessly removed from himself and, in the span of seconds, hung around Daniel’s neck, just like that. Jean-Éric doesn’t say anything, but Daniel knows its meaning as a last gift, a last keepsake, a last remembrance of what could have been. His hands rest on Daniel’s shoulders briefly, his grip firm but gentle, his eyes free of commotion; as he is about to let them go, Daniel holds his forearms in place before pulling him close, so close their foreheads touch, so close they almost share the same breath.  
  
Daniel should be saying his goodbyes, he should be breaking apart, but he doesn’t. Instead, he remains, and what he’s thought before is still true, it feels like a veil has been lifted or that a knot has been untied; all of a sudden, for the first time in years, he sees clearly and moves freely, without the guilt or the fear, without the anguish or the damnation. For the first time in years, he knows what to do, he knows the steps to take, he knows he will no longer need to be a captive of the spur of the moment or of the path of fruitless escape he had roamed until then.  
  
“Here’s what I’m going to do, I’ll tell you right away,” Daniel begins, clutching the map with one hand, the other tight on the back of Jean-Éric’s neck. “I’ll go, I’ll see the sea one last time. I’ll go, but I’ll come back. I’ll come back to you.”  
  
Once, not too long ago, he was careless, and all the promises he made to people were hollow, insincere, discarded at the first opportunity; never intended to be kept, never meant to last for long. They were never meant to be true, nor had any depth to them. Not this time; this time, it comes from within, from the fires racing inside, from the future he glimpses outlined underneath his feet. There is meaning, this time; there is a greater purpose, there is a way back in, and it is the one promise he intends to follow to the end.              
  
“You’d... you’d do that? You’d come back?” Jean-Éric asks, elated.  
  
“There are no more _woulds_  or _coulds_ , Jean-Éric. I  _am_ coming back,” Daniel replies, his tone full of certainty, of newfound resolution. “I’ll bring something from the coast-”  
  
“No, no, no.” Jean-Éric laughs heartily. “All you need to bring from the coast is yourself, in one piece. Your eyes, your voice, your bones. Just yourself. It’s all I need.”  
  
“Well, good to know we’re on the same page then, because I definitely want to come back to you in one piece. Coming back in one piece is my aim, I’ll do my best to make it. Not to mention I have to come back, I have to return this map to you, right? How are you going to go around, otherwise?”  
  
Jean-Éric shakes his head, still laughing, because he can be so  _silly_ sometimes, he can be so silly and that makes him feel so light, so sure life is harsh, but also beautiful; they embrace once again, wide smiles across their faces. It’s not the last embrace; the kiss that comes next is not the last, either, and that fills him with unbridled hope for what lies ahead of them. It might not be easy at first, there will be some amount of doubt, but he knows they can make it, side by side; they can make it happen.  
  
“I promise I won’t let the ghosts get to you.”  
  
It comes off solemnly, maybe more so than he intended, but still true to his feelings.  
          
“I know, I know,” Daniel whispers, just for the two of them to hear. “In here, nothing is capable of haunting me ever again. As long as you’re by my side, I’m safe.”  
  
Jean-Éric nods.  
  
“I will be. I will wait. Don’t you dare forget it. Don’t you dare forget this.”  
          
Daniel is serious, cupping his face in his hands.  
  
“I  _can’t_  forget this, Jean-Éric. I simply can’t. This is home, remember? Home can’t be forgotten, home  _won’t_  be forgotten. I won’t forget a single thing. It’ll come with me as I follow down your way to the coast, it’ll be with me as I watch the waves, it’ll remain with me when I come back. And I will come back. I will.”  
  
By then, their voices only echo what their hearts speak, and they speak the same, its intent and inclination equally mirrored in the sound of their words. One will wait, the other will come back, and it’s sealed on the strength of a clap of thunder and a sheet of rain plummeting down on the cabin’s roof. It’s been said, it’s been done, the foundations have been laid, and they both know they are laid deep enough to last through day and night, through drought and downpour, through thick and thin, through months and years, until there is no longer a moon or a sun to rise over the horizon. There will be a long future ahead of them, once Jean-Éric has waited and Daniel has returned; the few days spent distant from each other is the last obstacle to be surpassed, for now.  
  
Jean-Éric will wait, patient as he has long learned to be; he will wait in the welcoming dark, in places that have long been lost, under the falling rain. He will wait, and while he waits, he will dream of the home he was deprived of and the home he found, and then he’ll dream of dark eyes and sunshine and what lies underneath them, as will Daniel once day vanishes and the sound of rolling tides lull him to sleep. He will settle in and dream of slow scenes, he will dream of streams and moonshine and all that he is soon to return to. As he drives under the glaring sun, he will see the ghosts, he will see the parts of them that are inherent to him, that he will carry on no matter what, and he will see Jean-Éric among them; he doesn’t worry like he did before, however. He doesn’t worry anymore.  
  
He will see his ghost, but he will know he is holding up his promise, this time; he will see his ghost sitting on the passenger seat, legs crossed, same gait and same appearance, and it will be all that he has for the time being. His heart will be heavy and a feeling of longing sadness will take over him; he will then touch the necklace and realize that sometimes, just sometimes, it’s alright to see a ghost, for they are made of memories, and this one, this specific one, will not last for long, and he will come back.  
  
He waited long enough for peace, and he has found it at last, in Valley Stream.  
          
It’s just a matter of time until he achieves it fully, by Jean-Éric’s side.  
  


 

_the end_


End file.
